Angel On Fire
by Spread My Wings and Soar
Summary: We know that they are on their way, that they will come for us, one by one, all at once, we don't know, but they will come. And when they do, we will be prepared. Preparation. That's all you can do when waiting for the storm. POST-MAX.


**This is a new story that I've been experimenting with for a while. This idea hasn't left me alone, and I finally put down some words today. This story takes place after Max. This is my version of what happened after the Flock saved Dr. Martinez from the submarine, and Fang and Max finally got together. This is my first chapter and it's kinda rough, so just bare with me because I will assure you that it will get better.**

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_"Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side." ~_Delirium by Lauren Oliver

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**_Day One_**

**_8:38 A.M._**

Sometimes I wish that I could have the luxury of not remembering my dreams when I wake up in the morning.

This time was just the same as last time. It starts with a white room. Nothing covers the walls, and it's hard to distinguish which is the floor and which is the ceiling. The smell of antiseptic enters my nose. I call out to someone, presumably for Fang, or Iggy, or someone, _someone _to help me get out of this white room. But, my voice's echo reverberates off the wall, filling my ears with the desperate pleas it creates.

Suddenly, I'm not alone. My heart leaps out of chest, hopefully thinking that it's one of my family, here to help me leave the white room, here to bring me out to the world filled with vivid colors and imagination. I'm mistaken; it's them. They are like the walls; blank, nothing to show. Their faces are cruel and angular. They stare down at me, looking directly into my eyes. I try to look away, but their gaze traps me in. Their cold, cold eyes burn holes into my body and I feel like crying out of loneliness.

A scream leaves my mouth and in an instant, their hands are all over my body. Down my leg, up my arm, grabbing everything with iron strength, painful and demanding. These touches are not like the ones that Fang gives me. They are not filled with love and compassion. They are not followed by whispered murmurs of "I love you" or "You're so beautiful". They are harsh, filled with only one purpose; to destroy me. They start on the top of my body, slowly trailing down, down, down. And then they stop, filling me with dread. A tear slides down my bloodied cheek and the blank faces bring up their hands and-

This is always the part of the dream where I wake up, thrashing wildly in my bed, screams filling up the silence of my room. Sometimes when I wake up, Fang is right there beside me, his obsidian eyes clouded with concern, unlike the cruel grey ones from my dream. He never asks what they're about and I never tell him. He just wraps an arm around my shaking body, bringing me in closer to his chest. He whispers comforts in my ears, reminding me that I'm safe, that we're all alive and together, and that I'm loved. And somehow, we both drift into a restless sleep, united before the sun rises up.

This morning is just like every other. I wake up for the second time, and my gaze settles on the black blob securely holding onto me like a lifeline. A fond smile settles on my lips, and I shut my eyes again, basking in the utter tranquility and peacefulness of the morning.

And in about thirty seconds, that tranquility is broken. A shout is heard from the kitchen (it's Nudge; she's yelling at Iggy for burning the toast). Another sharp reply travels from the first floor up to the second (it's Iggy. _"I'm sorry for not seeing that the toast is burning!"_). I groan, my eyes struggling to open.

"One day," I mutter to myself grumpily. "That's all I ask for. One day where I actually get to sleep past nine o'clock."

"That's about as likely as Gazzy actually cleaning his room," comes a muffled response to the right of me. Fang is awake, his legs elongating into what seems like a semblance of a stretch. I try to to disentangle myself from my grip, but he playfully pulls back down onto the bed.

"Five more minutes Max," he mumbles. "I think you can afford five more minutes of relaxation before the day gets crazy."

"But I really need to-" I begin but I'm interrupted abruptly by his lips descending onto mine. He places a chaste kiss on my lips and grips my hand tighter.

"Five minutes, Max."

I try to look like I'm angry at him for telling me to do something, but a smile takes the place of a frown. I slowly let myself sink into the bed, Fang's arms encircling me, making me feel protected.

It seems almost insane that this is our life right now. A couple of months ago, the Flock and I were cooking squirrel over a fire, plotting ways to save Angel from the School. Now, we have a house again. We have rooms, and clothes, and food that doesn't include squirrel or roadkill.

After saving my mom from the submarine, we decided to take a little break from saving the world. The air shows and public appearances had been a little disencouraging; we had forgotten what our true plan was and what we actually needed to do to make a change. It was Nudge's idea, unsurprisingly, to buy a house that would just be for us. I protested immediately. It made me feel like we were giving up on the mission in order to take the easy way out. But Fang made me see reason. To save the world, we needed to know what we were up against. We needed to formulate a plan instead of diving right in again.

So I caved, and we went house-hunting, as ironic as that sounds. We eventually found a house on a secluded property in the state of Wyoming. The area had a lot of places to fly without being seen. It was a good distance away from the civilization of the town, but it was close enough that we could still have easy access to necessities like food and clothing.

We began to settle into a routine again. Wake up, eat breakfast, go outside, fly. Go inside, eat lunch, relax. Go outside, spar, go inside, dinner. Research, relax, sleep. The younger three love that we have this routine. They love that they don't have to wake up in a cage. They love that they don't have to wear the same clothes every single day that have a blood stain here and a dirt stain there. They love that they have easy access to technology, and they love that they feel assured that nothing, nothing, is going to harm them.

But Fang, Iggy, and I know better. We know that this won't last forever. As the oldest three, we've seen the most (using seen as a loose term here. Iggy hasn't literally seen anything in a while). We know how the whitecoats act. They might leave us alone now, but they have a higher purpose for us. They left us alone for four years for crying out loud, and then out of the blue, they took Angel. That proved to us that we always have to be prepared for anything and everything.

We let Nudge, Angel, and Gazzy enjoy their time here. We try to not bring up the fact that we're runaway children who have lived in harsh conditions most of our lives. We try not to bring up the fact that evil scientists who experiment on children are out to destroy the world. We try not to bring up the fact that in a matter of seconds, this whole facade of normality will crumble. We will have to run, like we always do. We will have to fight harder than before, and there's a chance we could even die along the way.

For their sakes and for our own, we try to enjoy ourselves as well. But as soon as we let ourselves go, letting our souls embrace the comfort of the house and the separation from danger, our mind wakes up painfully, reminding us we will never be safe. We know that they are on their way, that they will come for us, one by one, all at once, we don't know, but they will come. And when they do, we will be prepared.

Preparation. That's all you can do when waiting for the storm.


End file.
